Of Alice: Conclusion
by Whitwhit1893
Summary: My name is Alice, and I lay on my deathbed. Lately I've been hearing and seeing things, and I believe that they are calling to me. My only issue, I'm on my deathbed and my son won't let me leave the house. How is a girl to ever answer her callings?
1. My conclusion

I do not own a single ounce of Lewis Carroll's riveting masterpiece(s). I do own, only the few characters that will be introduced later in this tale of madness.

Author's note:

I've had this idea in my head for a while now, it's been trying to poke its way out. This is my second account, thus I consider myself a veteran of Fanfiction.

There will be no romantic love in this tale between canon's, there will however be madness between canon's.

I wrote this in order to ask questions, and hopefully you will to, for I may even confuse myself along the way, and most certainly you will to.

This story does follow a slight mix between the Original and Tim Burton's version(not to the point where I'm literally throwing in an entire central plot. It's in bits and pieces, or at least that's what I'll hope it'll be.)

I hope whoever reads this will enjoy it, and I do love constructive criticism, but not flaming. I've flamed, I know how good it feels to sometimes feel like you're on top, but it is bullying(I've been trying to better myself), so if you have something benign to say, do so in your mind, or write it down a piece of paper and show it to your mommy.

Of Alice: Conclusion

Prologue:

Ah, yes...conclusion. Funny, how conclusions can work. There never truly is an "end" in books...or in songs even, unless they truly have an end.

I was at my conclusion, but something happened to me that disrupted my approaching conclusion. I was called-again. Course, I was batty as a hatter, and shriveled as a prune, and laying on my bed with nothing but bloody sores on my back but when I heard that calling, I answered, not right away mind you, because I thought it was nothing but those symptoms mongering about and causing affliction in my head.

When I was first exposed to my calling, it sounded like a rhyme, and started like this,  
>"<em>Remember remember my never surrender, you'll find me there with a hint of better. Evermore it will come until..<em>."

And that was all I heard, or at least what I thought I heard until I woke up. I told my son, Hattagan, of the voice I heard, said it sounded just like his late father Maverick because it truly did, or at least I thought it did. Remember I said I was batty as though mercury had been poured down my throat but I knew that voices. Hattagan just passed it off, he said, "Mum, here have some tea. It'll put your mind at ease. It has jasmine in it...your favorite."

So apparently tea was the solution to my willy nillyness.

I heard that voice roughly five moons ago, and I wanted answers, and soon. My conclusion was coming ever closer, I could feel it-literally. For better or for worse, of late, that one place...that one place had been on my mind, almost to the point where I was retelling myself my exact endeavors. It was disappearing though, thus I felt my conclusion approaching mentally

Don't think me damaged or pathogenic. I was neither. I was just bloody old. And lost, but I don't think that that was a reason behind my bedridden state. Funny how being lost can intertwine itself within my state, huh, how intriguing.

It was a night ago on the seventh moon that I had last heard the voice whisper such a rhyme that I saw the rabbit.

Really, I saw a rabbit, dressed rather grotesquely in a torn vest, his eyes blood red and his fur was rather ill looking(more of a mix between goose droppings and rum).

There he was, on my dresser near the window, staring at the nearing full moon. He then looked at me, hauntingly and sadly, held up his pocket watch, tarnished it was, and tapped it three times.

He then said, in a rough hoarse voice, "Third times the charm, Alice. Make it quick."

I then blinked and he was gone.

It was then I knew, that was my calling, my true calling, and it was about time I answered. I had to return to...oh fiddlesticks! The name, if only it were glued to my memory! Somehow, someway, I had to go somewhere that I swear I had once been before, and I was relying more on my senses to get me there, and my senses were yearning rather strongly. However, though this yearning was inclining me to escape...everything, there were issues at hand that work against me...my what troublesome issues they were too.


	2. Chapter 1: Itchly

I do not own anything created by Lewis Carrol, or any other sort of Alice related media.

There will be a slight change in reference to inspiration. American Mcgee's Alice and Alice Madness Returns are better suited inspirations for this book than Tim Burton's version of Alice in Wonderland. Though elements may vary.

I thank those that have story alerted, much appreciated.

I hope people aren't taking this too seriously though, considering, things that don't make sense, shouldn't, things that do, will...eventually.

If anyone see's mistakes, would like to discuss their interpretations, or simply give me a cookie, please message me, I would greatly appreciate all forms...except for flames. Don't be a bastard, no one cares, I certainly won't at least.

Enjoy!

Of Alice:

Chapter one: Itchly

Conclusions don't just simply bash one in the head. It tends to be...subtle. A mouse in comparison to life really, sneaking along looking for cheese. Prior to conclusion is the middle, which is the worst part of all...most would hesitate to believe me, really now. I would, if they were repulsed enough, simply tell them to take a mirror and shove it in their faces. That'll make them see.

I suppose it started coming to me...when that sea donkey ever SO _pleasantly_ waltzed her way into our, yes our, life.

Hattagan, my boy, saw the girl prancing down Preacher Street on one of our outings to London from our summer home nearest Brighton. Dark pink flapping dress, with a parasol that wasn't even grand enough to draw the eye away from the ample mole on the side of her goose neck, prancing down Preacher with a lusty look in her eye...or maybe that was just because of all the clownish makeup that was applied to her face.

I saw a gleam in his eyes much like the gleam his father possessed on his angelic face the first time he met me...some amount of...well...time ago. My age isn't THAT important is it? I never asked you for yours you bleeding maggot!

Pardon me, I'm...why, when I talk about..._her_...the only way I could possibly describe my physical and mental health...is very similar to that of a white volcano.

Again, my greatest apologies.

As it were, that gleam led to...his imprisonment. He was given no such amount of parole...and eventually given a death sentence. OH THE HUMANITY! MY HATTAGAN! OH!

His face became sullen! HIS EYES RAW AND BLEEDING WITH ONLY THE SMALLEST AMOUNT OF VISIBLE FLESH THAT WAS PURE SKIN CELL CLUSTERED TOGETHER! And then his weight...well, not much I can honestly complain there. If there was anything, ANYTHING, that the she-devil was useful for, it was her insistence for weight loss on his part, she forced him to live a healthier life style. Where was I? Did I not provide enough fresh air? Enough galloping on the back of a bestial machine deemed a horse, God's noblest creature, that resulted in strengthened backs? Certainly, a pastry even a pasty every so often was handed to him...well more then often I suppose. Again, I shan't regret my words just because of my loath for that donkey. He did need some weight loss Alice, it was good for u-him.

I remember the very day he came to tell me of their nuptial intentions.

I was bed ridden at Hamish Place(our summer house near Brighton. You remember) due to a flaming back. Sores had begun to pop up all about my backside, so it was decided I was to stay there for some time, just for the freshness of the country and the benefits that it would, hopefully, bring.

He approached me as I wrote in my bed, a strong walnut made thing. I had been writing my thoughts of the day down, which included subjects as sincere as a petal falling from a tree's blossom, to as obscene as a knife meeting a similar fate but from the top of a shelf.

He pulled a chair close, took his hat off, and my, was he looking particularly fancy that day, and grasped my hand.

He looked me in the eyes with those stricken eyes of his and told me,

"Mother...I-I'm proposing."

Course, I immediately knew what he meant, and I swear every last gray hair on my head stood on end and leaned forward.

"Proposing what my good lad?" I nervously chuckled.

He sighed, and rubbed his temple. He always did that...just like his father used to. Of my two children, Chester being the other, Hattagan was most like his father. Chester was nearly the opposite of him, kept to himself, and sat in a corner most of his life writing, or wandering off to the countryside for hours on end.

Huh, where did he get that from, ho ho!

"T-to her, mother...to Lobelia."

I wish my mirror sitting parallel to my walnut bed had shattered right at that moment. My mental mirror broke at least!

But, looking into those eyes, after not being able to for minutes it seemed...I saw something there that I hadn't ever since my paramour had passed. It was a condition known to every human being as one of the most powerful and elite feelings to ever exist. He, most surely, was in love. A man of 34, was truly in love for the first time in his excellent life. A love the his childhood places, his dreams, the woods he explored, the air that smelled so sweetly of remnants of beach air could not compare to. I felt...I could not even describe how I felt really. I felt as though I were stricken with an ultimatum. To feel a swell of happiness or a swell of heartbreak. It was an icthly feeling...a feeling that made me feel icky and itchy all at once.

"Oh," was all I could say.

My conclusion had thus begun.

Two nights later, I looked out my window and saw a small pure white looking rabbit staring back at me...with what appeared to be a pocket watch in his paw.


	3. Chapter 2: Calling

I asked for a blessing, for the end of my days. Where was my light, my final breath?

Thank god for the simple things, the simple things kept me wondering. Wondering of the light that barely touched the inside of that retched and distitute room.

They had announced their engagament three weeks after Hattagan had told me of his intentions. Too soon...too soon it was.

In that three weeks...I had been forgotten. A book full of memories, page by page seemed to slip through the cracks of life, like they had never been created.

I aged, and sored and felt no emotion. The light, still trying to bring me hope and mercy began to dwindle, as that Lobelia closed the curtain inch by inch each time she stepped into my room, which wasn't too often, but often enough that the curtain gave me almost no glimpse of London.

The maid, Roselia, would pay the curtain no mind, for I never made a peep to open the curtain. She bathed me, helped me sit up for the three meals I was never glad to see, and occaisionally sat beside me to read to me. My favorite tale, being anything from the Grimm collection.

My mind would wonder then, and each time that fluffy white rabbit would enter my mind. He wore a vest each time, and held up a pocket watch, like he did that night I first saw him. Each time I saw him, even if the curtain never opened beyond it's current position, he would bring life to me, if not for a brief moment. He proved to me I required no such amount of light from the outside world to live.

I considered him my friend. He forbade me to die and each day I felt so close to death. But he tapped that pocket watch, and urged me on, as if saying, "You still have time, you still have things to do."

Each time I would thank the rabbit, but he would only nodd, then hop of into the abyss of my mind.

And this continued as those three weeks passed by. But it kept me going.

And then on one peculiar night, as I slept, a voice range out. It sounded as though it were...rhyming?

But it only came once. I listened carefully, but the voice never allowed itself to ring again, so I forgot it.

While my rabbit did give me some push...I yearned, and grieved for one person to step back into my life.

My Hattagan, oh Hattagan.

I remembered those times, the times of, "I love you," being passed between the two of us, the kisses, the nights in each others arms when he felt a chill in the night and urged my husband and I to let him in our bed. He was forever my child.

Ha, I remember when he was roughly ten years of age. Although I always say he was too much like his father, serious in nature, but nurturing, he would always have those boyish moments of bad decisions.

He came home to me soaking wet one fine spring day, Chester at his side. Hat refused to look me in the eye, whilst Chester laughed at his brother, barely able to even let out a breath. I begged him to breathe.

When Chester became sound, I asked him what happened, Hat still not looking toward me.

"M-mother...I'm sorry dearest mama. You know the pond near old man Scotts house?...Right, that one. Well, Scotts granddaughter was down by the pond fishing with her friend, and when we got near the pond, Hat here stopped dead in his tracks mum. Couldn't move an inch. I asked him why he was stoic, to which he said, 'I'm not ready.'

I asked what he meant, and he said he wasn't even, "ready to pass by her glorious halo of beauty. I can't even pass by her without insulting such magnificence.' HA HA hehe...so, to give him courage I began to walk by her, and shouted for her to come over. Lily obliged, and as she got closer and closer to me, guess what this buffoon did! SHOT RIGHT FOR THE POND LIKE A PACK OF DOGS WAS AFTER HIM! Ran so f-ast...HA HA...couldn't stop him. Poor Lily was so confus-HA HA..."

Ches couldn't even stand on his two feet, fell right down to th ground hounding away in laughter.

My Hat's face was redder than a spring apples skin.

I laughed, pulled the wet lad to me, and rubbed his head.

"My boy, you are too serious. You shouldn't let love do such things to y-HA HA..."

Oh that poor boy.

He he...my Hat...my god. You never learned how to listen to your mother.

* * *

><p>That fourth week would prove to bring a flying change of events.<p>

My health continued to deteriorate, my mind going with it. This fourth week became odder and odder as each day passed, but the oddities only came at night.

It went like this;

On monday, a white blur faded in and out of sight. On Tuesday, white tufts showed up on my bedside.

I racked a hand through my own white locks, only to discover what hair I retained was hanging on with outstanding strength.

On Wesnesday, there stood the rabbit, pure white. He stood in a corner and just looked at me. I could not blink and niether could he. I thought I had lost my breath.

"Rabbit..." I whispered softly. My breath remained, I was not dead.

I blinked, held my blink. I was afraid he would be gone once I opened my eyes.

My fears were answered, and they were according.

On Thursday, he came again, and still stood in the corner. Something was off about him though.

He was dusty, his vest slightly torn. His fur rustic, and his eyes droopy.

"Dear rabbit...what is becoming of you?" I asked, but like the day before I received no answer.

I blinked, but he remained, sullen and downtrodden.

After what felt to be an hour of staring, he reached his paw into his breast pocket and pulled out that oh so familier pocket watch.

But he only looked at it, then at me and urged his head as if to say, 'come Alice.'

I blinked and he was gone.

On Friday I would finally be pushed to realization.

After Roselia left after giving me soup, the room became filled with a soft rhyme. That voice it came back. It was rhyming!

I enjoyed the melodious rhyming for an hour or so, before a loud thump escalated throughout the room. I looked across the room and saw my rabbit, but...he was so wrong.

I did not see my clean vest clad white rabbit, I saw a rabbit, dressed rather grotesquely in a torn vest, his eyes blood red and his fur was rather ill looking.

There he was, on my dresser near the window, staring at the nearing full moon, the curtain pulled away. Oh the moon so large and illuminous. I missed such a sight, but my eyes could not remain on the moon for my friend required my attention.

He then looked at me, hauntingly and sadly, held up his pocket watch, tarnished it was, and tapped it three times.

He then said, in a roughly hoarse voice, "Third times the charm, Alice. Make it quick."

I then blinked and he was gone.

It was then I knew, that was my calling, my true calling, and it was about time I answered. I had to return to...that place...fiddlesticks. I could not remember the name of that place.

I don't know why I suddenly came to this conclusion, or semi-conclusion. What I did know was that I needed move, and quick. Somehow I would answer that calling, even if it killed me.

* * *

><p>Alright, I am finally able to get back on track with this!<p>

I am going to revise the two predecessors of this chapter, in hopes that I can strengthen the quality of both, I am not satisfied with either. I might even revamp this one(it gives me something to do. I am VERY bored and tend to sleep all day. I shouldn't complain too much, but cabin fever likes to creep its way into my mind if I'm not preoccupied with something. Not to mention, I wrote this chapter at 3 in the morning...it might need revisions done to it).

I want to have a chapter out each week. Maybe even soon than that, who knows.

But revisions should be done before the end of this week.

Thanks for viewing!


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